


When the Past Comes Back

by Twolittlesparrows



Series: The Lord, The Lady and The Surprisingly Lucky Sam Vimes [3]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Sex, Lesbians, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23104750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twolittlesparrows/pseuds/Twolittlesparrows
Summary: Lesbian polyam AU‘You’ll keep walking,’ The shadow spoke without words, breath like rotting wood. It smelled like mould, of damp fabric and mud. ‘You’ll never stop walking. Even when it burns-’‘Piss off,’ Vimes turned and walked on.Edit: Changed the title, as I wasn't feeling it.
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes, Sybil Ramkin/Havelock Vetinari, Sybil Ramkin/Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes, Sybil Ramkin/Samuel Vimes
Series: The Lord, The Lady and The Surprisingly Lucky Sam Vimes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648069
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Walking, Ever on

The beast was howling. Dry blood caked one side of Vimes’ face. Each laboured breath sent a surge of pain through broken ribs. Sam could barely feel her sword arm, her shoulder dislocated. Teeth bared she forced herself to stand. The streets were dark. Stones slick from rain. Where was she?

Her feet took over. The shades? Cobblestones guided her through the near pitch black streets. Her shuffling steps were the only sound. It was wrong. This was wrong. Something deep down inside her was screaming, rattling cage walls, trying to get her attention. She walked, holding her useless arm close. Where was the light? Where the hell were the street lights? In the distance a storm rumbled. Electricity sparked in the air, making fabric crackle and pop. Making her hair stand on end -

She was being watched. Sam stopped. A shadow in the leeward side of a building shifted. Smoke billowed from under long robes. Blue lightning flashed. 

‘You’ll keep walking,’ The shadow spoke without words, breath like rotting wood. It smelled like mould, of damp fabric and mud. ‘You’ll never stop walking. Even when it burns-’ 

‘Piss off,’ Vimes turned and walked on. Smoke curled around her legs. She stumbled, cursing when her shoulder jolted. The smoke pulled her ankle. It wrapped around her shin, and yanked. 

Sam threw her good arm out to catch herself – but there was nothing to stop her falling. She plummeted through smoke. The city rushed past, the storm thundered in her ears. Rain lashed at her skin - 

She was on the floor. Pain shot through her arm. Giant glass eyes watched her, a lantern filled the room with warm light. There was snoring above her. Soft snuffles and sighs. Something under her head squeaked when she rolled over. The nursery. She was in the nursery. Her son was sleeping peacefully, she was home. 

Carefully, Sam got to her feet. Everything hurt. A picture book lay open by the armchair, a blanket tossed on the floor. She had been to reading to young Sam, hadn’t she? Her shoulder hurt something savage. That hadn’t just been a part of the dream, then. 

Steadying herself with a hand on the wall, Vimes made her way to the bedroom. She rolled her shoulder, wincing at the stiffness. Her head throbbed. These dreams kept occurring, ever since she got back from her own past. The thought alone was enough to make her feel ill. It was hard to remember what was real when you went back in time and pretended to be the man who taught you almost everything you knew. Being back there then, right then when it all changed, had thrown her completely. The fear had seeped back. Seeing herself when she was that skinny, awkward thing made entirely out of knees, trying so hard to run with the boys, to get a dollar to take home to mum – it was too much. 

The skyline was pink and orange. Sunrise. Sam sat on the end of the bed, watching the slow progress of warm light chasing away the shadows of night. If she thought in metaphors, this would have been something, probably. Instead all it meant to her was that she had spent the night asleep on the floor, and her body was deeply displeased. Every joint complained. Every muscle was stiff. She was exhausted. 

Bed covers rustled. Sybil, not fully awake, crawled over to her. She lay down with her head in Sam’s lap, yawning. 

‘...You didn’t come to bed...’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ Sam whispered. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ 

***

Young Sam was a champion roller. He had mastered the crawl a week ago, but he clearly found rolling the best way to travel. Vimes was pleased with the enclosure she had built. He may be the best roller, but he was no match for his father’s arena of sofa cushions. 

Vimes stood in the centre of her masterpiece, hands on her hips, bent double as her son once again bounced off a cushion and filled the sitting room with infectious giggles. She beamed. Then scooped him up. With delighted squeals and kicking legs Young Sam flew around the room, held aloft by his parent’s safe, strong arms. 

‘Darling. A messenger arrived. You’re wanted at the Palace,’ Cup of tea in hand, Sybil sat on a cushionless sofa, watching her family with a smile. 

Sam sighed, swooping her son one way, then the next, dancing him over to his mother who cradled him to her ample bosom. 

‘How urgent?’ Sam asked. 

‘You know Havelock. It’s always urgent.’ 

Sam was dressed in her street uniform and outside the Palace within the hour. She paced in the waiting room, pushing the irregular ticking of that blasted clock out of her mind. Vetinari must have paid a mint for the damn thing. It could destroy the resolve of a troll, turn any mind into slush and leave them weaponless against the mental onslaught of the Patrician. 

‘She will see you now, your grace,’ Drumknott held the door open. Sam frowned, watching him. He wasn’t a bad man, though he knew too much and was far too tidy. He was just one of those people who you’d forget was there as soon as your eyes left him. He gave the studied impression that he was mentally picking lint off your shoulder and filing it away. She knew it was mean to think of him as such, but he really was a weird little man. 

Vetinari was seated at her desk. She also gave the impression that she was studying your every move, but that’s because she was. Of course outside of work hours the kind of studying that went on was much more enjoyable, though still had the ability to turn Sam’s head to mush. Vimes knew she would always be three steps behind the Patrician, in any capacity. 

Damn, she looked really pretty today. Sam quickly locked her eyes onto the wall just above the woman’s head, standing to attention and certainly not thinking about her long slender neck, and perfect hair. Not at all noticing how she was wearing a more low cut top than usual, with a silver necklace that trailed down past the neck line - 

‘ - Commander? Do you have an answer?’ 

Ah shit. 

‘Sir?’ Vimes frowned, falling into the character of the “silly and slow” copper and not the “distracted by the Tyrant of the city’s tits” copper. 

‘I simply asked if you had an answer regarding the recent resurgence of slab and slice on our streets, and what steps were being taken,’ Vetinari said, steepled fingers against her lips. 

‘Ah, yes. Right you are. I have Sergeant Detritus heading a task force, along with Captain Angua and a handful of other men, mostly trolls. Their names should be in the file, sir. So far they’ve busted two shipments in the last three weeks, and in the process uncovered a smuggling ring working from the docks. Detritus is also heading a three-step rehabilitation group for the trolls that are arrested.’ 

‘What are the three steps?’ 

Sam cleared her throat, ‘Uh, step one: Stop doing it. Step two: Don’t do it again. Step three: What the hell did I say to you, you horrible little troll, stop it, what would your old mum say?’ 

Vetinari nodded slowly, ‘And it works?’ 

‘The fear of Detritus, and slash or the fear of old mums works surprisingly well, sir.’ 

‘I found the threat of an aunt's curse worked...’ 

‘Sir?’ 

Vetinari gave a wane smile, ‘Just reminiscing.’ 

‘Been doing too much of that recently...’ Sam shifted her weight, still not breaking eye contact with the wall. Havelock stood, and leaned on the front of the desk, arms folded. 

‘Sybil tells me you haven’t been sleeping well.’ 

Sam frowned, ‘Is this relevant?’ 

‘Your well being is, yes. I need the Commander of the City Watch to be fit, in body and as much in mind as possible. Do you want to talk about it?’ 

‘There’s nothing to talk about, sir. I’m fine. It is more beneficial for the city if I simply crack on, and not sit around talking,’ Sam felt her cheeks and ears turn red, and she mentally cursed herself. ‘If that’s all, sir?’ 

Vetinari was silent for a fraction of a second, no one who didn’t know her so well would have noticed the pause, but to Vimes it was a cold chasm, one she knew she had launched herself head first into.

‘Do not let me detain you, Commander.’


	2. Flowers, Ever Growing

Flowers, that’s the ticket. Vimes had learned over the years that a well timed bouquet kept the wheels of marriage turning. Flowers and a little something special. Sybil deserved the stars, but Sam could only reach so far. The evening markets were bustling. Sam used to go to a florist, but she found she actually preferred to buy from the stalls, constructing the bouquet herself. 

Sam snuck home in through the kitchen, trotting with a secret behind her back. She found Sybil in the dining room, with Willikins. Before he could say anything Sam gave the butler a look that said “You haven’t seen a thing” to which the butler’s eyes replied, “Of course sir, and I shall get the roast brought to the table momentarily.” 

‘Hello, love,’ Sam popped a kiss to Sybil’s cheek. Leaping to her feet with a yelp, Sybil batted Sam’s shoulder. Vimes brandished the flowers like a shield, peeking out form behind some tulips. 

‘You cheeky bint!’ Sybil laughed, taking the bouquet. She kissed Sam’s cheek sweetly, pinching her backside, ‘You gave me such a start!’ 

Sam wrapped her arms as far around her wife as she could, holding her tight. She kissed her neck, eyes closed, breathing in her perfume. 

‘Are you okay love?’ Sybil asked in a whisper, fingers trailing down the back of Sam’s skull to her neck. She found a knot, and carefully kneaded it. 

Sam had started the day while it was still dark, frightening the life out of the last of the night watch when she came barreling into the watch house. She signed pay dockets, and got some of the filing done just as the sun broke over the sky. The sergeants watched in bewilderment as she rustled up new recruits, taking them through their paces, making sure they knew how to properly muck out the stables and cells. The whole time she was throwing back coffee like a dehydrated man at an oasis, eyes red lined, cheeks hollow. No one dared mention this, of course. Not even Fred when he wandered into her office in the afternoon to hand over some more reports. He watched her for a moment, his brows furrowed in worry before he tottered back out to take a walk with Corporal Betty. Vimes hadn't paused all day, she ate on patrol, and checked in on every watch house. She wasn't going to let some nightmares stop her from doing her work. It wasn't like she was going mad, was it? 

A nudge from Sybil brought her back to the moment, and she smiled. 'I've never been better,' Sam said, taking her wife's hand in hers. They sat at the table, dinner served. Sam's stomach flipped. She hadn't eaten enough and the smell of the roast was making her drool. As Vimes shoveled food into her mouth, she was vaguely watching Sybil, who in turn was watching her. She who watches the watchman while the watchman drops gravy down her front.

'Stay home tonight,' Sybil whispered. 'We haven't spent the night together in a while.' She touched her knee under the table, and Sam felt an ice cold knife of guilt stab through her heart. Flowers didn’t mean a thing if she wasn’t here with Sybil. Flowers would never be a real substitute for the space she left in the bed, or cover up the mornings Sybil woke up alone. 

Sam took her hand and squeezed, ‘Absolutely.’ 

The night progressed like normal. Vimes bathed her son, and the all important book was read, with the voices done perfectly. She watched him sleep for a few minutes, the world turning soft and pink. He was so beautiful. All big eyes and pudgy limbs. She loved his thigh rolls especially. She stroked his hair, leaning in to the crib to press soft kisses to his cheeks. 

The scent of roses wafted down the hall. Sam followed her nose, stretching her arms above her head. The bedroom was lit with lots of candles of all colours, the room filled with a heady floral aroma. Sam kicked off her boots by the chest of drawers – but Sybil was nowhere to be seen. 

‘Sybil?’ Sam looked around, the warm glow in the room making her head spin. 

‘Sit on the bed, Sam,’ Sybil’s voice cam from behind the bathroom. Sam’s heart did a spin, her stomach coiling. She quickly sat on the end of the bed, leg jiggling. 

‘Have you sat?’ 

‘Oh! Yes, I have!’ 

The door opened and Sam’s brain stopped. Sybil was stunning. A sheer robe was draped around her body, gathered on her hips and flowing to pool around her feet. She wore heels and stockings with garters attached to a corset, all black. And with no underwear. Sam melted. She watched in awe as Sybil walked towards her, the heels making her tower over her wife. 

Sybil reached down, nudging Sam’s jaw shut. ‘You’re drooling, dear.’ 

Sam flushed bright red, lost for words. She ran her hand over Sybil’s side, fabric soft under her fingers. She stood, pulling Sybil close with an arm wrapped around her waist. Her wife laughed, stroking her hands through Sam’s hair. 

‘Holy shit,’ Sam purred. ‘Sybil, I mean, holy shit! Look at you!’ 

‘You like it?’ Sybil laughed. She tugged on the collar of Sam’s shirt, ‘I think this needs to go, don’t you -?’ 

Sam flung the shirt halfway across the room, narrowly missing some candles. She didn’t care. Sybil helped her take off her binder, running her hands over Sam’s scarred ribs. Sybil took off her robe. Then pushed Sam backwards. She landed on the bed, dazed. Sybil made short work of Sam’s belt and trouser buttons. She climbed onto the bed, throwing her leg over Sam, pinning her down. They kissed, hard and hungry. Vimes hooked her fingers around the garter straps. She arched her back, trying to get as much of herself against Sybil as possible. 

Sybil hummed, laughing softly. She extracted herself from Sam’s hands, reaching over to open the bedside drawer. She pulled out two lengths of silk, ‘Roll over, my darling.’ Sam blinked, nervous, but did as she was told. She always did when Sybil gave orders. Her wife took her wrists, tying them behind her back. The other she fashioned into a blindfold. Sam shifted, biting her lip and moaning as Sybil tickled her hands down her sides. She kneaded her lower back, hands slipping under her waist band. Sam gasped, Sybil grabbed her arse hard, then yanked down her trousers. 

Sam felt the cold rush of air on the back of her thighs. She shivered, pulling against her bonds. She listened to Sybil rummaging in the drawers, nerves and anticipation pooling in her belly. She went to sit up but a firm hand pushed her back down. After some rustling, the bed wobbled, signalling Sybil was back. 

‘I’m going to have some fun with you, darling,’ Sybil purred. ‘Now, I want those hips up.’ She guided Sam’s body, so she was kneeling, legs apart, her cheek pressed into the bed. Sybil touched her with cool, slick fingers, gently entering her. Sam groaned, pushing back against Sybil’s hand. Her wife worked her for a moment, humming with satisfaction. Soon, she took her hand away, shifting closer. Vimes half groaned half laughed, as she realised Sybil was using her wooden toy, filling her slowly. Sybil then placed her hands on Sam’s hips, starting a slow rhythm. 

‘Sybil!’ Sam whined, hands straining against the silk. ‘What is it with you two and not letting me touch you?’ 

Her wife reached down and gave her hand a squeeze, ‘It’s fun watching you squirm.’ She giggled, speeding up. Vimes caught the bedding between her teeth, muffling her sounds. Her toes curled, thighs quivering, breath caught in her throat. She cried out when Sybil reached around and touched her, not once breaking her rhythm. Under the blindfold Sam’s eyes shut tight, riding out her climax to Sybil’s satisfaction. After she pulled out, Sam flopped against the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Hands freed, she reached to take off the blindfold. 

‘Hang on,’ Sybil said, a smirk clear in her voice. ‘Keep that on.’ 

She guided Sam into a sitting position, pulling her into a tight embrace. Sam nuzzled into her chest, skin tingling. Each touch sent a wave of sensation through her. She knelt up, cupping Sybil’s cheeks before kissing her. They moaned into the kiss, hands roaming, Sam’s body still reeling from her climax. 

‘Let me take care of you,’ Sam whispered against her wife’s lips. A hand was placed on her chest, just below her throat. Sam tried to work out where Sybil was moving to, but blindfolded she was completely disoriented. She followed the movement, crawling on the bed. She bumped against Sybil’s ample thigh and grinned. 

‘Oh no, you have that look about you,’ Sybil laughed. 

Sam growled low in her chest, spreading Sybil’s thighs. She kissed down on, then up the other, dragging her teeth along the soft skin. Sybil tangled a hand in her hair, pulling her to where she wanted. And Sam was eager to oblige. She felt the heat of her body, fingers and tongue drawing soft gasps and moans from her. Sybil’s grip tightened in her hair, and Vimes grinned. She enjoyed the pain. On either side of her head, Sybil’s thighs began to shake. With both hands Sam pushed them open, holding them firmly in place. She was relentless in her work, even when Sybil cried out, body taut with her climax. 

Sybil pulled Vimes up for air by her hair. She yanked the blindfold off, crushing her lips against Sam’s. 

After they cleaned themselves up, and blew out all the candles, the spouses cuddled up under the blankets. Sybil nuzzled into Sam’s chest, kissing her skin lazily. They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other breathe. Sam feared the nightmares. Her chest had started to tighten, and she felt her heart beating faster. She could only distract herself for so long, and she knew eventually she would have to give in. The heaviness in her body indicated that it had chosen now to be the time. Maybe she’d be fine. Vimes hoped she’d get one of those blissful sleeps where it’s like a light is simply switched off and your mind just goes black. 

Sam needed to sleep. She was being silly. There was nothing to worry about, they were just dreams. Dreams can’t hurt you.


	3. Conference

It was heavy. The smoke weighed her body down, filling her lungs like lead. She choked on it. The weight coiled in her stomach, her throat clogged. She was swimming in a sea of black. Every inch of her body crushed under pressure. 

‘Will you ever stop?’ whispered the voice without words, the stink of rot unmistakable. Sam wanted to lash out, to grab that faceless, voiceless thing and throttle the daylights out of it. She went to speak, but smoke pooled in her mouth. She was drowning. 

‘You can’t stop,’ crooned the voice. ‘Leave them all behind. Keep moving. Move on.’ 

Sam screamed—the sound a mere gurgle. Bile rose in her throat. Her eyes stung. 

‘Sam, you’ll leave them behind.’ 

She shook her head, but the voice just laughed, and laughed. ‘Poor Sam...’ 

Her heart pounded, chest aching. Cold, formless hands reached into her rib cage, the cruel voice right by her ear. ‘Sam!’ 

She screamed. Her voice pierced the dim morning. Hands were holding her. Shaking her. She threw an arm out, wrestling herself free. She landed on the floor, rolling to her knees. She pressed her back against the cool wall, searching for a way out. Wedged between furniture, Sam sunk into a shadow. Her cheeks were wet. Blood? No...tears? She was crying. 

And so was Sybil. Slowly Sam looked back to the bed. Half the bedding was on the floor and Sybil sat in the middle, hands clutched to her chest, eyes wide. 

‘S-Sam?’ She whispered. ‘I tried to wake you...you were thrashing about.’ 

Sam pulled her knees to her chest, arms tight around them, holding herself steady, ‘It was just a bad dream...’ but a voice in the back of her head said: is it? It feels real. It feels like how it used to. You’ve had these dreams before – a lifetime ago. Her home, that should be safe, was filled with shadows. It’d come back. The fear. 

‘Come back to bed,’ Sybil said, holding out her hand. With effort, Sam stood. She took Sybil’s hand, kissing her palm. ‘I’m going to head in to work. Get some rest.’ 

‘Sam!’ 

‘I won’t get any rest, it’s better if I occupy myself,’ Sam couldn’t meet Sybil’s eye, and she prayed she wouldn’t push it. Please, she thought, I can’t fight you on this. Because I will, and I’ll hate myself for it. 

***

Havelock Vetinari was very fond of her god child. If she was someone who doted, she would heap enough dotage upon that small child to bury him. She held him close as he dozed. And she bobbed. Havelock never thought of herself as someone who bobbed. Yet as soon as she held Young Sam, her body took over. She bobbed. She bounced. She carted him around her suites showing him art and books he was NOT allowed to touch and would never remember. She had even introduced him to Leonard of Quirm one afternoon, during one of Sybil’s enforced “godparent/child bonding” hours. She had found she looked forward to these moments with the young boy, surprising herself. 

He snuggled in her arms, settling against her chest. Her hip and bad leg sent sharp reminders of their limitations. Wincing, she sat on a sofa, swinging her legs up. She carefully lay young Sam against her thighs, bunching her robe up to support his head. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling his breathing. 

He was so small. Havelock obviously had been around children, people brought them to the palace, and they ate pies on the steps. They were a fact of life – one she never thought would be so personal. 

Young Sam’s face scrunched up. He wriggled. And howled. 

‘Oh! Oh no, what’s wrong with you?’ She scooped him back against her chest. He kicked his little chunky legs, wafting a truly unpleasant smell. Havelock held him out from her, eyes wide. ‘I see Samuel, this just wont do, will it?’ 

Vetinari got to work. She had watched Sybil do this a few times before, (and once seen young Sam, with impressive accuracy, widdle onto Vimes’ shirt), and first things first she needed The Bag. The Bag contained everything. Nappies, clothes, toys, moist little towels in jars, a first aid kit. The Bag brought a level of preparedness that even Havelock was impressed by.

Holding her cane by the foot, she hooked the handle through the straps, dragging The Bag over to the sofa. With one hand she flicked out a towel on the cushion opposite, laying the crying child down on his back. 

All in all her first nappy change went well. Young Samuel seemed happy with her work, and seemed fine with being observed by a flustered Drumknott while she quickly went and changed her robes. She pondered putting a note for the washerwomen explaining the mess, but then she remembered she was a tyrant and could do what she pleased and the lovely ladies down in the laundry had dealt with worse. 

Drumknott was standing over the playpen when she returned, with the cagey look of a man unused to such messy, unpredictable creatures that were babies. He breathed a sigh when he spotted her. Relieved to be relieved from his duties as guardian he quickly disappeared back into the offices. Vetinari recalled Sam Vimes referring to her secretary as a “weird little man”, and while not a bad description, she had yet to meet anyone who wasn’t in some degree a weird little man. You didn’t have to be little, or a man, in order to be a weird little man. She herself, no doubt, had aspects of weird little manhood. Vimes was a fine example of being a weird little man. Was there anyone who didn’t fit the description – Sybil. Sybil Ramkin! She was in no way a weird little man...

‘Em-bah!’ Said young Sam, knocking Vetinari from her thoughts. She’d been thinking out loud again. She settled back down on the sofa, nodding, ‘You agree then? You’re not a weird little man, though time will tell if that continues.’ 

‘Em-bah, bah no!’ Said young Sam with a grin. He stood holding the edge of the playpen, little head tilted to one side. 

‘Can you help me?’ Havelock asked, pulling the crossword section of the times over. ‘Because I hate to admit it, but I may be stuck on this seven down -’ 

‘Lady Ramkin is here to see you, your lordship,’ Drumknott poked his head in before stepping aside. Havelock stood, hand on the arm of the sofa. Her leg was really needling her today. That was worrisome. 

Sybil smiled when she entered, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Havelock limped over to her, draping an arm over her shoulders. 

‘Young Sam and I have been having a lovely time,’ She said, kissing the top of Sybil’s head. ‘He was about to help me with the crossword.’ 

‘Was he now?’ She chuckled. Vetinari caught Sybil watching her limp, a light frown on her beautiful brows. They sat beside one another, hands interlocked. ‘He’s my clever boy.’ 

‘He is indeed,’ Havelock whispered, stroking over Sybil’s knuckles. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ 

‘I’ll make it,’ Sybil stood. ‘You’re limping again. You need to go to a doctor.’ She put the kettle on the small stove, pulling the tea ups out, ‘Honestly, you need to look after yourself better! You’re not as young as you used to be.’ 

Vetinari nodded, hands on her lap, watching her dear friend bustle about the suite. Young Sam knocked over a pile of blocks, giggling happily. Havelock had known Sybil for most of their lives, and she new at times you just had let Sybil storm. And now she was dusting. Sybil took a tea towel in hand, wiping down shelves. The kettle began to whistle, and she quickly poured them tea, ‘Honestly Havelock, do you tidy in here? Don’t you have a maid?’ 

‘Yes, I do,’ Vetinari took the cup. ‘And she does her best. Sometimes dust just accumulates.’ 

‘Well it shouldn’t,’ Sybil huffed, sitting back beside her. ‘It gets in the air, and makes everyone sneeze.’ 

‘Sam’s still being difficult, then?’ Sometimes it was better to let Sybil storm about, and sometimes it was better to be direct. Sybil sighed, deflated. ‘Yes. She had another nightmare.’ 

‘You got her to sleep, then? With those drops I suggested?’ 

‘No. I refuse to use them, Havelock, I will never use them without her knowing. I used...other methods,’ Sybil sipped her drink, not making eye contact. 

‘You had sex?’ 

‘Yes dear.’ 

‘Good. I’m glad,’ She smiled. ‘You both deserve time together like that.’ 

Sybil gave a slow nod, ‘She hasn’t come by here to...?’ 

‘No. No we haven’t engaged in any activities outside of official meetings for a month now. I dare say she has too much going on in that head of hers,’ Vetinari prided herself on her ability to keep her face clear of emotion, but around Sybil she let her guard down. She leaned back on the sofa, rubbing her eyes. 

‘Havelock, I’m beside myself,’ Sybil whispered. ‘She isn’t right. She isn’t my Sam right now. Not since that storm. I don’t know what to do, she won’t talk to me. Could you try?’ 

‘I did. And she deflected and went back to work. I can’t fault her work ethic right now, she’s actually doing paper work. Her men are terrified of her at the moment. She’s being...too efficient.’ 

‘I’m scared she’s going to slip away...’ Sybil’s voice cracked. Setting her cup aside, Havelock shifted closer, throwing her arm around her friend’s shoulders. 

‘My lovely one, she would never. There is no place in time where Sam Vimes leaves Sybil Ramkin. You are her world. She knows how much you care for her. I can try again, if you wish it of me...’

‘I do...’


	4. Cigar smoke

It was nearing 10pm and Commander Vimes found herself standing in front of the Patrician’s Palace. She had walked without thinking. Her shift finished an hour ago, and after dropping off a pack of recruits she had simply wandered. She pulled her large woollen hat (knitted by Sybil) down over her ears. The Palace was lit up. The guards ushered servants in and out. Somewhere in the back of her mind Sam recalled an invitation to a Big Do. She rubbed her hands on her trousers. Well, she was a Duke. She could just go in, see what the fuss was about. Maybe find Vetinari, and whisk her away into some dark corner to distract herself with those long fingers. 

*

The world was pink and fuzzy around the edges. Vetinari had a warmth spreading through her body. She walked through a corridor, leaving the large dinner in the ball room filled with the movers and shakers of the city and those from abroad. Pleased with the evenings talks, she went in search of fresh air, entrusting her clerks to wind down the festivities and if need be hire wheelbarrows to get everyone home. 

The back halls were dimly lit. She opened a window, leaning against the frame, arms folded. She took a deep breath, smelling the city. And the promise of rain. Havelock could taste it on the wind. 

‘You look really nice.’ 

Havelock turned, flashing Vimes a charming smile, ‘I didn’t expect you to come.’ 

‘Neither did I.’ 

Vetinari hummed, straightening up. Vimes strode over to meet her, clocking her unsteady gait. She held Havelock by the bicep, smirking, ‘Have you been drinking?’

Vetinari chuckled, ‘Yes. An unusual occurrence but the attaché from Genua brought this delightful collection of spirits that really did sneak up on me.’ She wrapped her arm around Sam’s waist, leaning both on her partner and her walking stick. Sam felt her thin body shiver, and she pulled her coat edge around the Patrician, holding her close. 

‘Havelock, you’re freezing. Let’s get you home, yeah?’ 

Once upstairs, Sam quickly stoked the fire in the Oblong Office while her lover got changed. Sam shook off her coat, hanging both it and her woollen hat on the coat rack. She went to light some candles as Vetinari came back in. 

‘No, leave them. Lets just have the fire going. It’s romantic,’ Vetinari said softly. Sam cocked her head to one side with a raised brow.

Havelock’s slender arms wrapped around her shoulders, and Sam shivered as her warm breath hit her neck. Sam turned in her embrace, looking into Havelock’s eyes. Sam didn’t understand make up, but she always admired it on others. She noticed the small smudged lines under Vetinari’s eyes, worn away by the day. How the subtle dark lines made those light eyes spark even more. The inexactness of it made her look more real. Softer. Sam’s heart fluttered.

Sam reached a calloused hand up to touch Havelock’s pale cheek, running her thumb over a small scar at the corner of her mouth. The colour she had worn on her lips left a faded tint of plum, her natural pink poking through. 

‘What’s going on in that head of yours?’ Vetinari asked in a whisper. 

‘I don’t know...I missed you.’ 

Havelock sighed, ‘You’re the one who kept their distance.’ 

‘I’m sorry.’ 

The Patrician shook her head, ‘Don’t be. You had a lot to think about after we spoke at Keel’s grave.’ Sam flinched, reaching up to touch the scars around her eye. Vetinari frowned, ‘Come, lets not dwell on that right now.’ She stepped back, holding Sam’s hand, ‘I'm in a mood to be reckless.’ 

‘We’re not going to act like teenagers, are we?’ Sam asked with a chuckle. 

Havelock shook her head, ‘Please. I’m a fully grown adult woman, and you’re an adult...something.’ 

Sam spread her arms wide with a cheeky grin, ‘Fully grown adult something, that’s me.’ 

‘Do you want to have an official...signifier at all? You allow everyone to refer to you as a woman but we both know that’s not exactly the case. Is it?’ 

‘More official than Commander? Or Duke? Or Vetinari’s Terrier?’ Sam simply shrugged, ‘What would changing anything now do except confuse everyone? Let them think what they want. Besides, I’m too old to change. Old dog and new tricks, you know?’ 

Havelock sat on her desk, shaking her head. ‘You’re not a dog.’ 

Sam chuckled, ‘I thought you started the whole “Vetinari’s Terrier” thing.’ She stretched on sofa, crossing her legs. She watched Vetinari pour herself a glass of wine and juice into a wine glass for Sam. A nice touch, she thought.

‘...I will never confirm, or deny, the origin of that moniker. But I’m not a fan.’

‘I thought you liked terriers?’ Sam said with a snigger as Vetinari sighed, placing Sam’s drink onto the table in front of her. ‘Sam, see what’s flying above your head? That’s the point, you seem to have missed it.’ 

Havelock sipped at her wine, humming a tune to herself as she stood with her back to Sam. She gazed out the window. Somewhere in the city music was being played, the echoes even reaching the height of the Oblong Office. Drums, the heavy beat from the trolls. Sam bobbed her head along with it. She actually quite liked troll music. There was something pleasing about the weight of the sound, how it thrummed through your bones. 

Vetinari swayed, eyes closed. Without making a sound Sam moved to stand behind her.

‘Dance with me,’ Havelock whispered. 

Sam blushed, ‘I’ll step on your toes. I always embarrass Sybil by doing that, I-’ 

Vetinari took the lead. She placed Sam’s hands where she wanted them, letting Sam at least hold the position of the ‘male’ role, even though she was the one that moved them. They danced slowly, not completely to the rhythm of the distant drums. Sam’s moves were stiff, practised and she often had to look down to check where her feet were. But Vetinari didn’t seem to care. She smiled, not her small calculated smile that wrought down reckoning to the unweary. A genuine, tipsy little grin. She deftly avoided Sam’s clumsy feet. Her lithe body pressed against Sam, her fingers stroking her nape. 

‘You’re so beautiful,’ Sam blurted out, breaking the quiet. Deep shadows danced along the walls with them, the room chilled even with the fire lit. Vetinari blinked, leaning in to press a kiss to Sam’s forehead. 

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. 

‘I suppose you hear it a lot, though. I mean, other than from me. I tell you all the time. And Sybil. I tell Sybil too. That you’re hot. And that she’s hot. Both of you. Are hot...’ Sam babbled, ears turning crimson. ‘But you surely get told it by other people who... are less of an idiot than myself.’ Why was she always unbalanced whenever she was alone like this with Vetinari? The things they had got up to behind closed doors should mean her nervousness was history. Yet Vetinari could still unleash a riot of butterflies in her stomach and make her palms sweat. 

‘Actually I don’t.’ 

Sam frowned, ‘What? You need better friends.’ 

‘Darling, you and Sybil are the only friends I have.’ She spoke plainly and Sam knew Havelock didn’t find that to be a sad statement, but it still made Sam’s chest twinge. 

‘Besides,’ Vetinari continued. ‘Do your friends often remark upon your handsomeness?’ 

Sam laughed, ‘Uh, not really. Well, except Nobby, once. When he found out I wasn’t a boy, he tried it on.’ 

Vetinari laughed, head thrown back, ‘Oh dear. I hope you let him down easy.’ 

‘I actually did,’ Sam blushed. ‘He was very good about it.’ 

They lapsed into silence, their dancing having shifted to a gentle sway. Vetinari shifted her weight, tightening her grip on Sam. 

‘Do you need your stick?’ Sam asked with a worried frown. Vetinari sighed, looking away, ‘I want to keep dancing.’ 

‘What does your leg say about that?’ 

‘It can go to hell.’ 

Sam’s brows shot up. She stopped the dance, cupping Havelock’s cheek. She stepped back, giving Havelock’s hand a squeeze, ‘Come on.’ Sam let go of her hand and sat on the sofa. From her trouser pocket she pulled out the silver case and lit a cigar. Vetinari watched her for a moment, then picked up her wine again, running her hand through her hair. 

Vetinari stood in front of Vimes. She leaned in, plucking the cigar from Sam’s lips. She took a slow drag, settling herself on the sofa. On the exhale, Havelock’s head fell back. She stretched her legs out on the table. 

‘I try not to look at the past, except as a means to study patterns and gauge a future,’ She handed the cigar back, eyes closed. ‘I live in a world of “what ifs” and I plan. But when I do look back...sometimes...I wish I had planned for you.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ Sam let out a puff of smoke, her fingers lazily toying with the ends of Havelock’s hair. 

‘We orbited each other for years, and I knew about your...struggles. I planned around it, let the Watch dwindle. I let you dwindle, and I’m not proud of that.’ 

‘You didn’t know me then, not really,’ Sam said. ‘I ran on fumes, I was barely a person. Of course you didn’t take me seriously.’ 

‘Perhaps. You have grown so much,’ Havelock opened her eyes to look at Sam. ‘You’ve done so much. For everyone.’ 

Sam gave a soft frown, taking another puff of the cigar. She held it out for Vetinari to take. Instead, Havelock leaned in and kissed Sam’s neck. Vimes shivered, stubbing out the cigar. She chewed her lip, eyes wide as Havelock climbed onto her lap, resting her forehead to Sam’s. 

‘You saved my life,’ Havelock whispered. ‘With Wonse, and the dragon...’ She kissed Sam’s cheek, ‘I saw who you could be.’ 

Sam frowned. She recalled the cavern that the great hall became. Of Wonse’s wild eyes as he backed away. Carrot’s surprising accuracy and equally surprising lack of a grasp on metaphors. Wonse’s plummet. It felt like ten life times ago. Yet also only yesterday. She could still visualise those huge flaming nostrils. The metre long talons -

‘I miss Errol.’ 

Havelock blinked. She quickly dug through her mental filing cabinet for anyone named Errol that she knew Sam knew well enough to miss. She came up empty.

‘Do you?’ She said, attempting sympathy anyway. 

‘He was a good boy, really. A little fool hearty, maybe. But good. And brave.’ 

‘Yes, I suppose he was..?’ 

‘Ate that fluffy ball with the bell in like it was nothing,’ Sam said with a wistful sigh. ‘I’d buy him as many as he’d like now, if he was still here.’ 

‘...Errol...oh good lord. The swamp dragon?’ Havelock blinked. Then laughed. Her shoulders shook, eyes wrinkled in the corners. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, snorting. Sam watched her in stunned silence. With a sigh, she bundled Vetinari in her arms, ignoring when the Patrician yelped. 

Sam unceremoniously dropped her onto the bed. Havelock shook her head, trying to smooth out her hair, and regain some form of dignity. 

‘That was rude,’ She said, flattening out the wrinkles in her shirt. Sam kept ignoring her. Instead she focused on unlacing her boots, hopping on one foot. 

‘Now really Sam, this is highly unusual!’ 

Vimes tossed the boots into the corner by Vetinari’s plain drawers. Sam pulled off her socks, and her jumper (both knitted by Sybil), leaving her hair and under shirt ruffled. Sybil had once referred to the look as ‘dashing’ and ‘scoundrel-like’ in a purring voice that had left Vimes weak at the knees for an entire weekend. By the look of it Vetinari was thinking something very similar. Sam rolled her sleeves like an expert. 

She knew that Vetinari knew exactly what she was doing. And she knew that Vetinari liked it. Because even though the Patrician was a cold, controlling, and seemingly omniscient woman, she had her weaknesses. Which apparently was a rumpled looking Vimes with her sleeves rolled up. 

Sam stood there, shirt a little untucked, her lithe but strong arms on show. In the shadows, the lines on her face were more pronounced, and Havelock found herself wanting to trace her fingers over them, follow each deep line of worry or scar and feel the history on her partner’s skin. Her plan for the evening was veering off track – yet she didn’t care. Sam had that look in her eye. 

A thousand fires burned in the depths of Sam’s eyes. She was filled to the brim with rage and held together by spite and sheer stubborn bastardry. Vetinari had harnessed that more times than Vimes may ever realise. 

Vetinari took her eyes off Vimes, and focused on her shirt buttons. Her skin prickled under Sam’s burning gaze. Havelock took her time. There was something about the way Sam watched her that made Vetinari want to draw out this moment. As if this in of itself was some prolonged foreplay. 

She slipped the soft blouse off, carefully folding it and placing it on the floor beside her simple bed. The cool night air rushed over her bare back and chest from an open window, making goosebumps rise in clusters. She didn’t shiver. She pulled her hair back into a loose bun, exposing her neck. Behind her, the bed shifted under Sam’s weight. Havelock felt hot breath on her neck, just below her ear. She bit back a smile. 

Despite her fire, Sam’s kisses were often soft. There was a longing in them. It didn’t matter how many times Vetinari, or Sybil, reassured her, there was always that quiet desperation to hold on, as if they’d slip between her fingers and leave her in the cold. 

Vetinari pressed herself back against her, shivering happily when Sam wrapped her arms around her. She was safe, in those arms. Realistically, of course, Vetinari was never truly safe, no matter where or who she was with. There were always plots, even if she had her finger in most of them. In Sam’s arms, or when she was pressed to Sybil’s side, Vetinari allowed herself to feel a second of genuine security. 

Sam nuzzled into the crook of her neck and sighed. Eyes closed, she tightened her hold. She felt Vetinari’s fingers rest on her forearms, drawing light patterns on the rough skin. They stayed like this for a while, silent and holding space. Rain fell. The air from the open window was tinged with a wet chill. Vetinari turned and pressed a kiss to Sam’s jaw. 

‘What do you need from me?’ She asked the commander. 

‘Nothing. I never want anything from you.’ 

I know, thought Vetinari, but I’d give you all that I could. 

‘...I startled Sybil the other night,’ Sam whispered. Vetinari could hear the wince in her voice, the pain. She gave Sam’s arm a squeeze. 

‘I was dreaming. It felt real. I could smell it. And..she was trying to wake me up. I panicked. I thought I was back there again.’ 

‘What was the dream about?’ 

Sam let her go. The cold hit her like a wave. Vetinari looked at Vimes from over her shoulder. In the dim light she looked hazy. Like she was an image with fading edges. There was something hanging on her, like an after image on the back of your eye lids if you stared at the sun. Vimes patted her self down, swearing. 

‘You left the cigars in the office...’ 

Vimes left Vetinari alone. She listened as the commander searched for the silver case. She heard the flash of a match, the jolt of wood on stone as a table was kicked. She wouldn’t follow her into the office. Sam would come back to her. She always did, in one way or another. 

Eventually Vimes did return. Cigar clenched between her teeth, she carried in their drinks from the other room. She handed Vetinari her abandoned wine, and sipped her juice, sitting on the edge of the bed. The light in the room hadn’t changed, but the haziness around Vimes wasn’t there anymore. Curious. 

Vimes was smoking like a chimney. Ordinarily Havelock had a rule against it in her bedroom, but these were unusual circumstances. Her hands were shaking. Carefully, Havelock moved, setting her wine on the bedside table and laying her head in Sam’s lap. 

Sam finished her drink in one gulp. With her hand free, Vimes ran her fingers along Havelock’s sternum. The smell of cigar smoke filled the room. Vetinari watched the swirls twist on the air currents. She closed her eyes, focusing on the feel of Sam’s touch, and the sound of the rain. You couldn’t rush Vimes. 

‘I think...something is happening,’ Sam whispered. ‘In my head. I think the storm scrambled me.’ 

‘You fell through a different leg of time, some brain scrambling is understandable.’ 

‘It’s not just that. I’m...remembering things from when I was a kid. Things I’d forgotten. Or...hid? From myself,’ Sam shuddered. ‘When I was back there, it all came back. I mean, hell, you saw me back then too!’ 

Havelock nodded, ‘I saw Keel. Or rather, who I thought was Keel. I didn’t see you, exactly. We didn’t know each other then.’ 

‘That doesn’t matter! I had to be him! I had to be that man. I had to...’ Sam shuddered, ‘I had to see the Particulars. And I watched myself as a damn kid during all of that.’ 

Ah, here we go, thought Vetinari. We’re getting there. 

‘Did you have any...personal run ins with the Particulars, Sam?’ She asked. 

‘Yes,’ Sam flexed her fists. Open, close. Open, close. Her knuckles white and cracking. Havelock felt the anger rising like mist around her. She wasn’t afraid of that anger turning on her. Sam would never hurt her. Sam would never hurt Sybil. She was filled with the kind of anger that always turned inward. Her heavy black depression that raged against the world. 

Vetinari sat up. She took Sam’s hands in hers, holding them up to kiss the knuckles, ‘Would you stay the night, Sam?’


End file.
